Nicotine
by bebop-aria
Summary: Co-written with cowgirlnoir: When Devotion is Beyond Hope, Addiction Fills the Void. Spike. Faye. In canon. In character. In each other's pants.
1. Extreme Ways

"Nicotine" is a joint publication of cowgirlnoir and bebop-aria. Each chapter is a collaboration, beginning with an outline and a specific song. Check either cowgirlnoir or bebop-aria's profile pages for information on how to hear the songs that inspired each entry.

* * *

**I. Extreme Ways**  
  
_Out of the inky darkness the gigantic rose window blooms. The distant sound of breaking glass rushes a split second behind on the chill air. Then silence. The cathedral grounds are empty, save for the gangsters' late model luxury sedans.  
  
My wrists ache and I'm getting cold in this stupid dress. I've just managed to comm. Jet and I'm hoping he'll come for us. I can't see what broke the window, though I'm straining my neck trying. Then I see a form. It's dark. It has some sort of cloth flapping around it.  
  
Oh.  
  
God.  
  
Glass shards surround him like a swarm of glistening butterflies. It's Spike. In his trenchcoat. That unruly green hair is unmistakable. He's falling backward without a struggle.  
  
Eternity yawns between his body and the ground. My brain stops working. My lungs suck darkness. He can't be. So high. He can't survive. Fear sluices down my spine and pools in my legs.  
  
Then the grenade explodes, a blinding white flash followed by orange flames. The concussion blows the rest of the massive window into the night. I blink the streaks and stars from my field of vision. I try to bring my hands up to cover my eyes, forgetting they're still cuffed behind my back. And he falls. And he falls.  
  
I don't know how, as I can barely see and my legs are like lead, but I run to the stairs. He's still falling. And I start sobbing before he hits the ground 15 feet in front of me and the stone gives way under the weight of his death. I hear that terrible, final noise and watch the enormous glass shards strike and shatter in a rain of ice around him.  
_  
Faye sat up on her bed and breathed deeply. She had to will herself to unclench her hands and then unwrap her arms from her knees. Her fingers were white and red from where she had been squeezing them together. She'd left marks on her legs. She could still feel the terror of that night, the absolute shock of knowing she was witnessing death.  
  
Except Spike hadn't died in that fall. The lucky bastard. He was busy trying to die now, this time at the hands of a little kid with a harmonica. And here she was, waiting for the end again. Waiting for the call to come, from the coroner, or perhaps the police.  
  
She'd been shocked the first time he died. But it had been easier, too. It was unexpected and sudden. This time, she didn't have to see it, but she had to wait. She wished that there were something else to do aboard this soaring shitpile than imagine what was happening. She tried to tell herself he might be okay, but she knew it was a lie.  
  
Maybe it was better for Spike to die: it was clearly what he wanted. Faye could see the black hole in his eyes, the emptiness and lack of fear, the darkness that swallowed everything. Not to mention his arrogance. And laziness. Maybe that freaky little kid was doing everyone a favor by killing him. Maybe that's why Spike went out to meet him.  
  
He'd gone out toting that enormous single-shot gun and her knees went weak when she tried to tell him – what did she try to tell him, anyway? What was the use of even saying goodbye when he didn't care? He had it easy. He just had to find someone or something that would kill him. But she had to wait for it to happen. And Jet had to clean up the mess. So inconsiderate, to leave everyone behind with the hard part.  
  
Faye shifted on the bed. All of this thinking and arguing was pointless: it drove the fear deeper into her head instead of further away. She couldn't sleep – it was too early for that. She wished she'd stolen something alcoholic from the liquor stash to drown out all of the words, all of the pictures, all of the questions. She couldn't go back into the common room. She couldn't face Jet, who was pacing around like an irritable old bear. Even the damned dog was irritable right now. And there was nothing to do but wait.  
  
_That scary gangster with the white hair. Vicious. Spike's enemy. When Spike came into the cathedral, Vicious said that angels who fall become devils. And Spike knew what he was talking about.  
  
Vicious and the goons and that dead guy in the opera house were Chinese mafia. And Spike used to be one of them, which explains a lot. His reflexes. The range of weapons he uses. Why he's so cold. A fallen angel. He's a marked man, if they want him dead. So maybe he figures his death inevitable?  
  
But how the hell does a Syndicate assassin end up on a junky old retrofitted fishing ship with a one-armed bounty hunter? And a crazy, genetically modified fur ball. And what the hell am I doing here with them? There must be better places in the universe.  
  
Why didn't Spike run from danger? Why did he run into the confrontation with the Syndicate instead of away? He must have wanted something from them, from Vicious. He didn't care about saving me, like he said. Of course, Jet blamed me anyway, all three days Spike lay there unconscious. Said I got him into trouble and nearly killed him. It wasn't me. It was his own pride.  
_  
Faye jumped off the bed and landed on her feet. She couldn't think any more. She'd go crazy. She shook out of her legs to get the blood flowing after sitting too long. Even Jet in a bad mood was better than this. She stumbled to the door and then out into the hall.  
  
As Faye climbed through the hatch into the common room, she saw Jet sitting on the low yellow chair, rebuilding an oil pump on the table, an ashtray and a bottle of whisky at his elbow. The dog slept on the couch, in Spike's usual spot. She hesitated for a moment, and then came down the stairs.  
  
"Hi there," She said, from about 5 feet away.  
  
Jet was so focused on what he was doing that he didn't hear her. She said it again, louder, and he looked up in surprise. The pump slipped out of his hands and clattered to the floor, emitting a stream of filthy oil on impact and showering him. He let out a few heartfelt expletives in response, probably Ganymedean slang. Faye had never heard anything so nasty.  
  
Jet looked up at her, face long and obstinate with a stripe of black oil from his forehead to his chin and dripping from his hawkbeak nose. Faye had to laugh. Pretty soon, he joined in with her. For several moments, they just laughed, deep belly laughs that loosened all of the tension in the room and swept it away. Gradually the laughter subsided and Faye realized she was crying and she couldn't stop. Jet got up awkwardly. He cleaned off his face and then brought her a relatively clean rag. She blew her nose and willed herself to stop. It was just the nerves. Jet wordlessly got a second glass from the galley and poured a generous two fingers of whisky. Faye nodded her thanks.  
  
She put down the sodden rag and lifted the glass, taking in how the amber liquid absorbed the stark light of the common room and what her own pale fingertips looked like through it. She put the glass to her lips and tossed her head back. Her eyes watered again as the viscous burn slid down her throat. She blinked twice and then set the glass down, empty. Jet watched her with his mouth slightly open. When she caught him looking, he coughed and went back to his repairs.  
  
Faye was teary but she'd managed to stop the real waterfall. She sat down on the couch and enjoyed the afterburn of the whisky. It slowly neutralized any resistance. She watched the dog twitching in his sleep and resisted the strong urge to poke him. Jet ignored her and finished the pump assembly. After a long spell of quiet, the dog woke and sat up, looking at the two humans a bit dazedly.  
  
Jet set down the pump and wiped his fingers on a rag. He picked up a pack of cigarettes, put one in his mouth, and lit it. He set the pack down. Faye wondered how she could casually make her presence more visible, when Ein barked. Jet looked at Ein and then at Faye. He picked up his pack again, tapped it, and offered her a perfect stairstep of three cigarettes. She took one gratefully and lit it with the lighter he handed her. She couldn't be sure the dog hadn't meant for this to happen.  
  
Midway through their cigarettes, Jet's comm. buzzed. Ein's ears pricked up. Faye dropped her cigarette in horror, picked it up wrong, and burned herself. Jet stubbed out his and answered. Spike's voice rang through the stillness: "Ok. I'm back. Would somebody open the damn door?" Jet got up without a word and walked to the flight bay, with Ein trotting behind him.  
  
Faye alternately sucked the burnt fingers of her right hand and smoked the rest of the butt with her left. Her fingertips throbbed and she felt like she was going to cry again. Only after it was finished did she go to the freezer and get ice. Then she went to her room with a little ice pack on her hand, a glass of water, and Jet's fresh pack of cigarettes tucked into her yellow shorts.  
  
_Fucking lucky asshole._

__

* * *

Faye didn't come to dinner. Spike and Jet enjoyed a quiet meal together, with not much to say and no distractions. When they were finished, Spike briefly filled Jet in on the facts of the confrontation with Wen. He didn't want to talk about it much and Jet didn't ask any questions. After a little while, Jet went off to look at the Swordfish and Spike brought their bowls to the sink.  
  
Spike rinsed the dregs of soy sauce from his bowl. He leaned against the counter, long legs loose in black training pants and white arms uncovered by his grey undershirt. He rolled his neck to loosen the kinks. The running water made for good white noise. Then Faye's voice cut through it. _Shit_. He didn't need her high-strung, nosy chatter tonight. He felt his shoulders starting to tense. He also didn't need a reminder that she didn't seem to be going anywhere.  
  
"I don't get it," she said tersely, "You shot the pink stone fragment at him and he turned into a mummy. And that's it. Case closed. You don't wonder if it was really what he wanted?"  
  
So she had been listening. Spike didn't turn around, though he wanted to tell her to mind her own business. Or get off the ship. He wondered idly if she would hit him if he said it out loud. He _was_ in the mood for a fight. The cut on his right cheek stung and the events of the day had left other, subtler marks.  
  
"I don't need to know." He surprised himself by answering her. "He's better off now, anyway."  
  
"Oh please." Her mockery was overplayed but it still cut. "Don't confuse him with yourself. Some of us like being alive. Unlike you with your damned suicidal heroics."  
  
Spike finally looked at her. She stood in the doorway with a red shirt wrapped around her shoulders and a thin arm resting on the doorjamb. A strand of purple hair grazed her cheek and her green eyes pierced the space between them. She lounged against the seal of the hatch with practiced boredom, but the seriousness of her heart-shaped face betrayed her.  
  
He turned off the water and set the bowls on the drainer. Then he shrugged. "I can recognize someone who's ready to die," he said, "If you like being alive, maybe you shouldn't put yourself in situations where I have to keep you that way."  
  
Faye's green eyes narrowed and her mouth all but disappeared. She looked like she was going to say something, but she couldn't unpurse her lips. She spun neatly and stomped off, less neatly, to her room, nearly knocking Jet over as he came down the hallway. He shrank against the wall and decided not to ask. Faye spectacularly failed to slam her door, and had to do it twice.  
  
Jet walked into the common room. Spike sloped to the couch, a lit cigarette in one hand and a clean ashtray in the other.  
  
"What'd you say to her?" Jet asked casually.  
  
Spike shrugged, inhaled, and then tapped his ash off. He stretched his bare feet out onto the table and interlaced his hands behind his head.  
  
"Ah, that special Spiegel charm. Drives the women crazy," Jet said flatly.  
  
Spike smiled briefly at the ribbing. "She is crazy, Jet. She just asked about Wen and I didn't have anything to say."  
  
Jet scrutinized his partner's upturned face. Then he said awkwardly, "Don't be too hard on Faye, Spike."  
  
Spike sat up and cocked a disbelieving eyebrow.  
  
Jet continued, "She was just worried about you, that's all."  
  
Spike nodded slowly, looking at Jet as though he had just sprouted tentacles. As if it wasn't enough that he had faced a malevolent freak in the body of a child, shot him, and watched him decay. Now everyone was acting weird. Even Jet, who could usually be trusted to keep a clear head. Well, mostly, and the rest was on his own time.  
  
Jet made some apologetic noises and went off to find something that needed fixing. Spike settled back on the yellow couch and decided there was only one cure for the shock of homecoming.

* * *

As he was sliding into his second post-dinner nap, Spike heard soft footsteps on the common room stairs, heading for the galley. He lay on his back on the yellow couch, breathing evenly, with long legs stretched out and one arm flung across his eyes. He'd been too lazy to turn off the light.  
  
The feet belonged to Faye, who was padding quietly past him in search of food. Spike shifted his arm imperceptibly so he could watch her movements through the filter of his eyelashes. He tried not to smile at how she looked, tiptoeing like a nervous cat. Then he noticed her shirt and stopped smiling. It was a thin green scrub shirt, too large on her little frame. It fit her like a dress and it was his.  
  
In two seconds he was off the couch and over the low table, and in another two he grabbed her arm as she stood in front of the fridge looking for the leftover green peppers. She let out an impressive shriek. Spike held on, more to keep her from belting him than anything else. Ein came charging in and ran around in circles, barking. In another minute they were treated to the dubious sight of a shirtless Jet, groggy and sporting a raised fire extinguisher.  
  
Spike, still half-asleep himself, managed something soothing about everything being fine and Faye just being startled. She shot him a lethal glower.  
  
Jet grunted. "Oh well," he rasped. "Try to be good, kids." He shouldered the fire extinguisher and stomped back out, grumbling under his breath. Ein huffed through his nose and trotted off in the direction of the flight deck. He wanted no part of the fight clearly brewing between the tall quiet one and the little mean one who smelled like dead flowers.  
  
Spike realized he was still holding Faye's upper arm. He dropped his hand and looked at the red marks coiling across her skin. Faye ignored him pointedly as she grabbed a set of chopsticks and then tucked into the bell peppers, leaning against the sink.  
  
Spike said, "You're wearing my shirt."  
  
Faye stopped eating and set her bowl down on the counter.  
  
"I'm not dead yet. So why are you stealing my clothes?" he asked coolly.  
  
The speed and vehemence of Faye's reaction was impressive. She stared at him, wide-eyed, and then dropped her chopsticks next to the bowl. She reached down with both small hands and yanked the offending shirt over her head.  
  
Involuntarily greeted by her breasts, Spike tried to look at something, anything else. She certainly was, uh, well-built. She held out his green shirt, wearing only a thin pair of cotton shorts. After a bit, he realized her lips were moving. "...storage room. Near the garbage compactor. Thought it wasn't anyone's." Her voice was high and there were two spots of red on her cheekbones.  
  
Spike found his own voice and told her she should keep the shirt for now. She put it back on. It was suddenly easier to look her in the face again.  
  
Faye went back to eating. Spike stood and breathed for a bit. He regained his composure. As she wolfed down the last of the peppers, he spoke. The quiet of his tone made her listen.  
  
"He wanted to die." Spike looked down while he spoke, his expression indecipherable. "Imagine remembering a whole century and being treated like you needed someone to tie your shoes for you. He was caught as a child in the aftermath of the Gate Accident."  
  
She sucked a lungful of air and literally inhaled the last pepper, which occasioned much coughing.  
  
"I'm okay," she managed, though he hadn't asked. "That reminds me of something I can't remember clearly, something like the Gate Accident." She stopped and considered, "Or before it? But that's impossible, right?"  
  
She looked into his eyes, in an effort to confirm the answer. He nodded slowly and said, "Lots of things are impossible and they happen anyway."  
  
Faye rolled her eyes. "What is that, the Tao of Spike? I'm sick of riddles. I just want to know."  
  
"Know what?" Curiosity got the better of his discomfort at conducting a serious conversation with her. The normal rules seemed to be suspended tonight, anyway.  
  
"I dunno." She turned and put her bowl into the sink. "Why it feels like my past is one giant accident I can't remember."  
  
Spike was startled by recognition. "It's no better to remember," he said.  
  
She thought about this for a few moments, biting her lip. "But how do I know my past won't catch up with me, if I don't know what it is? And what if you need to remember something?"  
  
Spike closed his eyes and dropped his chin. He said softly, "There's nothing I need to remember. I let the present flow by me and I get closer to oblivion every day. It's always better to forget."  
  
He pushed off from the counter and turned to leave. Faye reached out and put her small hand on his shoulder. Surprised, Spike stopped and then turned back. She dropped her hand quickly.  
  
"Does it work? Intentionally forgetting?" she asked him.  
  
He cocked his head and smiled faintly at her. "I can't remember," he replied. He turned back toward the hatch, digging his cigarettes out of his pocket.  
  
"Hey," she ventured, and he looked back again, a little of his previous irritation returning. "Can I bum one of those?"  
  
He handed her the pack after he lit his own. She tapped one out and stood with it between her fingers, looking at him expectantly. He raised a long eyebrow.  
  
"Oh," he mumbled, and held out the flame to her. She took a long drag and leaned back against the counter, the pack still in her other hand now crossed over her midriff. In his shirt. Which he had just let her keep. He took a drag and exhaled.  
  
Spike watched her through the growing haze in the small space. He tried to decide if getting his cigarettes back would end in a fight he didn't have the energy for. Faye stared down at her feet and smoked as if she'd forgotten he was there. She picked at the corner of her mouth with her thumbnail in between drags.  
  
Spike shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He reached past her to tap his ash in the sink. Faye jumped a little, startled by the movement, and knocked Spike's arm as he leaned. It was just enough to send him sliding in to her, in an effort to keep his balance.  
  
It wasn't clear to Spike why the resulting entanglement was embarrassing, but Faye blushed furiously. Her small red mouth was open and she breathed quickly against his chest. He felt the warmth from her skin. He pressed a little harder in to her to pick up his cigarette and then stepped back. They finished smoking in silence.  
  
Finally, Spike said, "Listen, Faye. About Wen. I'm the one who shot him. I'm not losing any sleep over it. You shouldn't either."  
  
She looked back at him for a long moment. She gave him his cigarette pack. "No, I suppose not," she said. "Thanks for the smoke."  
  
He nodded. "Nicotine. Next best thing to forgetting. That's the Tao of Spike."  
  
She gave him the ghost of a smile, and he made his exit before she could think of anything else to keep.


	2. Just a Girl

"Nicotine" is a joint publication of cowgirlnoir and bebop-aria. Each chapter is a collaboration, beginning with an outline and a specific song. Check either cowgirlnoir or bebop-aria's profile pages for information on how to hear the songs that inspired each entry.

* * *

**II. Just a Girl**

The interminable stillness made Faye want to scream. She had nothing to do: no fingernails left to cut, no magazines left to read. She couldn't take another bath or sit through another algae mask. As she sulked on the stairs, she wondered what they were going to do if nothing turned up. They hadn't seen so much as a hint of a lead in a week. Spike lolled on the couch and Jet stared at the powered-off vidscreen with a faraway look.  
  
Suddenly, Ed's computer emitted a startling string of beep, buzzes, and clicks. Ed waved her arms over her head and rocked back and forth, goggles glowing. She chortled unintelligibly as windows began to pop up from among the sea creatures on her screen. Ein trotted over immediately, cocking his head. Everyone else stared dumbly for a few beats.  
  
"What is it, Ed?" Faye asked. She got up and walked over to the glowing screen and the little red-headed creature who controlled it. Strange though the girl was, she had three things going for her in Faye's eyes: she was female, she diverted attention, and she was even newer on the ship. Plus, she could get information off the Tomato much faster than Jet could shake down his weird menagerie of informants.  
  
"Bounties! Booty! Bubbles!" Ed crowed. The windows on the screen listed mug shots and bounty values. Spike and Jet came over and stuck their noses into the circle around the information.  
  
After a few seconds, Spike made a derisive noise and sat back down on the couch. Jet nodded, his eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle of his craggy face. Faye looked back and forth at them, puzzled.  
  
"Small fries, all of them," Jet muttered.  
  
Faye shrugged. "A bounty's a bounty, right?"  
  
Spike snorted from the couch. "Enough to live on for a week, if you didn't keep losing your share."  
  
"Enough to live on for a month if the _both_ of you could keep from destroying public property," Jet growled. Spike rolled his shoulders amicably and put his feet up.  
  
"We're going to have to split up and go after all of them," Jet went on, reading the descriptions. "Spike, think you can handle a couple of car thieves?"  
  
"I won't promise you that the cars will make it."  
  
"The damages will come out of your share if they don't. Get over here and take a look."  
  
With an exaggerated sigh, Spike drew himself up again. Faye watched him out of the corner of her eye. She fought the urge to stick a foot out as he strolled past her, hands in his pockets. The consequences would be swift and ugly but it would be beautiful for a moment.  
  
Jet moved aside to give Spike room. "Faye, there's a small-time bank robber in here. Says he's also a Syndicate accountant. Sounds about your speed. Baker Panchorero. Eight hundred thousand."  
  
She frowned. "An accountant? Isn't there somebody more challenging to go after?"  
  
"Prove you can bring the right bounty in, and you can start picking your own targets. Should I print out a picture for you?" Jet asked with wide- eyed nonchalance.  
  
Faye curled her lip at him in reply.  
  
"Might be a good idea," Spike chimed in sunnily. "After all, it's easy to make a mistake."  
  
_Asshole_. "I think I can remember that mug," she said, her voice rising a little. "We didn't have a picture with Decker, you know. Only that damn tattoo description."  
  
Spike chuckled. "Try not to shoot him. Or anyone else, for that matter. It would probably be safer for everyone if you left your gun behind. And if you make nice, he could help you consolidate your debt."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "You guys are so obnoxious. Like you're any better."  
  
"My debts are consolidated to nothing," Spike drawled, but his smirk faded when Jet shot him a glare.

* * *

Faye landed the Red Tail at the far end of the grocery store parking lot, using its camera to examine the fourth floor of the apartment building where Ed said Panchorero was holed up. Faye had waited until she was in the air to call Ed back. She played the "I got you on board" card to wheedle more research out of the hacker.  
  
Faye checked her Glock and tucked the extra ammo cartridge in her jacket before locking up the ship. Screw Spike: accountant or no, she wasn't going in unarmed. Even if Panchorero was just an accountant, he looked big, and he was an accountant for the mob. You could never be too careful. If the police were willing to put up a bounty on him, he was worth more than eight hundred thousand, with proper negotiation. He probably had information. Maybe she could extort a little something from him for the promise of freedom before she turned him in anyway.  
  
Her comm. buzzed as she reached the sidewalk. "Faye. See a blue Corsair in your neighborhood?"  
  
She raised the comm. and glared at Spike's face on the screen. "No." _Like I'm going to help you_, she thought, surprised at her own vehemence.  
  
"Come on. You didn't even look." A cigarette appeared in the viewscreen, and then his lighter flamed.  
  
"You catch your bounty, I'll catch mine," she said sweetly. "I've checked the parking lot and the street. No blue cars."  
  
He cocked an eyebrow and disconnected. Faye pocketed the comm. again and looked both ways before stepping out into the street, heading for the apartment building. Shabby curtains billowed in the breeze from Panchorero's open window. Two teenaged boys sat on the front steps. She approached them with a hip-sway and a dangerous smile.  
  
"You guys live here?"  
  
The dark-haired one squinted up at her in the afternoon sun. "No. Waiting for a friend."  
  
Faye nodded and leaned forward a little, sticking out her chest. "I'm supposed to meet somebody too. A guy named Baker. Big guy with a beard. But I don't know if I'm at the right building."  
  
The blond boy made eye contact with her breasts and told them, "I think he lives on Mickey's floor."  
  
"Great," she chirped, beaming at him. "I guess I'll wait here with you." They moved over to accommodate her, sharing a glance.  
  
Suddenly, the door to the building opened behind them. Faye spotted someone broad and hairy out of the corner of her eye. _Shit. Shit. Double Shit_.  
  
She hopped up and called after the already-retreating form of her mark. "Mr. Panchorero? Mr. Panchorero?"  
  
He barely looked over his shoulder at her, then scowled and kept walking, heading west on the sidewalk. Faye hurried after him.  
  
"Mr. Panchorero, I have information for you," she called out desperately, willing him to stop. Five seconds in, and her planned courier-service diversion was already shot. The broad back didn't slow down, but disappeared around the corner of the building into the alleyway.  
  
Faye rounded the corner herself, heels clicking on the concrete. She blinked in the sudden shade. A click her boots didn't make echoed off to one side. When she turned, she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. A big gun. Held by a big guy. Panchorero was at least two inches taller than the 6'1" his jacket listed. And he was every bit as ugly: a large brown scar ran over the place where his left eye used to be and there were numerous other scars etched into his grimacing face.  
  
"Who sent you, girlie?" he spat at her.  
  
She raised her hands and let out a nervous giggle. "Mr. Panchorero, please. I'm only here to relay some information to you. From the higher- ups." She smiled smoothly and winked.  
  
He cocked the weapon and she tried not to flinch. "Bullshit. I saw your piece in the back of those little shorts when I came out the building. Did they think a nice ass would make me let down my guard?" He addressed the entire threat to her ass.  
  
Faye bit her lip. "I don't understand. Really. I was just supposed to –" she floundered for a good piece of fake information. She cursed herself for letting the lie out without thinking of a backup story. She knew she was taking too long. Shit.  
  
"Save it, cutie," he growled. Before she could react, he shoved her forward and grabbed both of her wrists behind her back. Faye ground her heel into his ankle. He shouted in pain. She tried to twist free but couldn't; he threw her to the ground with astonishing force. She lay there, stunned and breathless, then heard him kick something. Through a screen of purple hair she saw the Glock sail off and stop about five feet away. I'm fucked, she thought. The gun had fallen out of her shorts, or maybe Panchorero had snagged it, when she fell.  
  
She felt a boot in her back and a gun against the back of her head. "So who sent you, doll. Make it quick."  
  
She stammered. "I don't know their names. Two guys in a bar said I could find you here. I'm not even from Mars. They paid me in advance to tell you someone was trying to fix the dog races for tonight."  
  
"No dogs around here," he said. "Another lie and you're dead." His breath was hot in her ear. "Where'd you meet them?"  
  
She bit her lip and said nothing. He was way too high-strung; something here was wrong. Maybe he wasn't really working for the Syndicate. Maybe he'd tried to get out. While she listened to him breathe and tried to keep the black from creeping into her vision, her comm. buzzed again. Panchorero kept the gun on her with one steady hand and reached into her jacket with the other, copping a generous feel in the process of finding the phone. She snarled and twisted away from him.  
  
Spike's voice echoed in the alleyway. "Hey, Faye, I'm striking out here. I'm going uptown to see if I can get any other leads. Find your head yet?"  
  
Panchorero jammed his boot a little harder into her back. "So you're a bounty hunter. That's a new one. Since when does the Syndicate hire freelancers?"  
  
After a few seconds of silence, Spike said mildly, "You must be Baker Panchorero."  
  
The big lug stiffened. "You must be ready to lose your girlfriend," he barked. Faye squirmed as hard as she could, getting him momentarily off- balance, and he dropped the comm. to apply both of his hands to the task of holding her down again. Spike didn't say anything more, and Faye's heart sank, pounding, when she realized he'd probably been cut off.

* * *

Spike stood staring at the comm. screen for a few seconds, listening to the wordless scuffle that followed the disarray of images. The camera finally settled on overcast sky, with the alley-side wall of some kind of apartment building visible along one edge. He pulled out another cigarette and weighed his options.  
  
Faye was in trouble. Again. The guy didn't sound like an accountant on the comm., but then, if he was Syndicate and not ethnic family, he'd probably been hired for more than one purpose. Much as Spike wanted to walk away from the whole mess, the threat to her life had sounded at least moderately serious. This head was used to killing. And without a catch of his own, any bounty was a bounty worth taking down.  
  
He muttered under his breath before putting the sky camera on hold and calling the Bebop. Ed answered with a grin and one of her unintelligible sounds. Spike resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers. The kid gave him a headache.  
  
"Ed, can you use Faye's comm. signal to locate her?"  
  
"Mmyah!" Ed replied. Spike took it for a yes.  
  
"And can you send me a grid of my location and hers?"  
  
"Mmyah!" she said again, more emphatically, but just blinked at the camera.  
  
"Now?" He groaned inwardly and tried to keep the panic out of his voice. Now that he'd decided to go after them, he really didn't want to find a dead Faye and no bounty.  
  
"Yes, sir!" Ed barked, and his screen went blank for a moment before displaying a city map with two blinking dots. She was close. Very close. He looked up at the street signs and identified the blue dot as himself. Another few seconds gave him his bearings, and he broke into a run down the sidewalk with a block and a half to cover between the two points. He switched the comm. back to the open channel with Faye's. It was the first time he could remember being glad to hear her voice.  
  
She seemed to be bargaining. "...let me go and I'll just go back and say I couldn't find you."  
  
"What about your boyfriend?" came the gravelly reply.  
  
"Him? He won't come after me," Faye said, her voice lower. "We don't have that kind of a relationship."  
  
Spike frowned as he pounded past a couple of teenaged boys sitting on the front stair of the apartment building. They watched him with vague curiosity. He drew abreast of the corner leading into the alleyway and slowed, switching off the comm. and listening closely.  
  
"...who sent you to find me!" Panchorero was saying.  
  
"No one, I swear. I'm a bounty hunter. Really. Please let me go." From the sound of her voice, Faye didn't even have the good sense to be scared. She still thought she was going to talk her way out of this. Spike felt a twinge of guilt for joking that she should leave her gun behind. She'd obviously listened. He darted a look around the corner. Panchorero had Faye on her belly on the ground, with one knee on her back and both arms wrenched up behind her. He faced the dead end of the alleyway. Spike walked slowly forward, stooping to pick up the Glock on the pavement about five feet away from the pair. _Amateur. She brought it and she lost it. Time to clean up.  
_  
"Is there a problem here?" he asked. His voice echoed off of the high walls.

* * *

Faye heard the voice, but she didn't believe it. She craned her neck as best she could and saw Spike's lanky frame advancing. Panchorero dropped her arms and straightened up, keeping his boot planted between her shoulderblades. Spike brought a gun – _her_ gun – up in his left hand, and as soon as Panchorero's eye was focused on the barrel, he brought his left foot around in a graceful sweeping kick that ended with the thud of shoe against skull. Panchorero grunted and toppled sideways. Faye wasted no time in wriggling out from under him. She made a desperate leap toward Spike.  
  
The next few seconds seemed to spool out in high-res slow motion. Panchorero reached up from his slump and grabbed Faye's left wrist. She reached out with her right hand to Spike. Spike shot his left arm forward to meet her hand without looking at her, and Panchorero swung his other fist at Spike's temple, arcing toward it while Faye tried to muster a scream and Spike's attention shifted to her stumbling form.  
  
The fist connected. Spike rocked, but did not fall. Faye had a moment to think he took a punch better than anyone she'd ever seen before he unleashed a flurry of jabs and kicks on the unsuspecting one-eyed accountant. As it turned out, Panchorero took a punch as well as Spike did. Faye felt small and ignored, standing to the side while they traded blows. Then she looked down and realized she held her weapon. Spike must have transferred it to her when he reached out.  
  
Neither man seemed to have the advantage. Spike was faster, and could avoid most of Panchorero's attacks, but even his brutal kicks didn't seem to have much of an effect on the hirsute gangster. She watched in fascination for a few seconds before it dawned on her that Spike was fighting _her_ bounty. _Her_ spending money. _Her_ chance to have the upper hand on the Bebop, for once. She felt her eye twitch and raised the Glock, trying to keep Panchorero in her sight.  
  
"Hey!" she shouted, and both men darted looks her way before turning back to each other. "Put your hands up, Panchorero!"  
  
Spike looked to her again, and then to her gun. She knew he was nervous she'd shoot the next thing that moved. Panchorero saw the opening and grabbed Spike in a wrestler's grapple, crushing his arms at his sides and hooking a foot around his knees to force them to bend. Spike struggled admirably, thrashing and wiggling like a caught fish. Panchorero followed Spike's evasive motions and forced him down to the ground, straddling him with his full weight. Spike's long body twisted first one way and then the other, but Panchorero's giant legs pinned his arms and his weight was too much to overcome – despite Spike managing a good two inches of clearance between his belly and the ground.  
  
Panchorero gave Faye a dismissive look. "You're not going to shoot me or you won't get paid, cowgirl," he sneered, and delivered a punch to the back of Spike's head. Spike grunted and lay still.  
  
"And you," Panchorero barked, turning his attention back to the man on the ground. "You really should have left her here. She's going to get you in trouble."  
  
Spike wriggled and then arched his back, legs flailing in an attempt to land a kick. Panchorero grabbed Spike's raised ankle. "Not a chance. You're mine," he said.  
  
When he reached for Spike's ankle, Faye dove forward, pulling her handcuffs out of her jacket pocket. She had one around his wrist before he knew what was happening. It was just big enough. He instinctively twisted the other way, reaching for her. She snapped his other wrist in the link and stepped back, aiming the Glock at him again.  
  
"Get up," she ground out while her heart pounded in her throat and the adrenaline broke down in her muscles. "I'm taking you in."  
  
Panchorero stood with a sneer, planting a knee in Spike's back to balance as he got up. As soon as the weight was gone, Spike curled up, muttered something unintelligible, and climbed to his feet. He stood still for a moment, dusty and crumpled. Then he shot a lightning right hook to Panchorero's face. The gangster went down like a landslide.  
  
Faye tried to hide her grateful smile. "At least I got the right bounty this time," she said brightly.  
  
Spike blinked and stared at her, working his jaw side to side. His eyebrows knit together in a dangerous black slash. He didn't seem able to come up with anything to say.  
  
"I'll share, of course." Faye sensed trouble but sailed on. "You get two hundred when we turn him in."  
  
Spike snorted once and then turned his back on her. He walked unevenly away.

* * *

The nefarious Syndicate accountant and bank robber Baker Panchorero had no idea what he was up against when Faye asked Radical Edward to watch him. He muttered something about women and children and Faye wished that smacking him weren't undignified. She tied him with as much rope as she could find to the metal ladder and left all fifty pounds of genius hacker in charge.  
  
Faye needed Ed's help. Spike was avoiding her and Jet seemed preoccupied with something. When Faye brought Panchorero onto the Bebop and declared Ganymede as their destination, Jet had congratulated her and Spike on finding something alive and then gone off without asking about the damages. Faye and Spike had actually made eye contact for a moment in surprise before Spike shrugged and turned away, headed for the hangar where he'd been ever since.  
  
After roping Panchorero, Faye wanted nothing as much as a bath, and so she had enlisted Ed to watch the captive. Faye soaked in the tub and thought about the past few hours. She wished she'd gotten a good punch in. She wished she didn't have to share the bounty. Most of all, she wished Spike hadn't seen her on the ground.  
  
Meanwhile, Ed stood with her face a few inches from Panchorero, watching him. He growled. Ein came in and growled. Ed got bored and sat down to drink a soda on the floor. Then she played with Ein. Finally, she decided to climb the ladder to see where it went.  
  
When she heard Ein's yelping below, Radical Edward hurried back to investigate. The vent cover fell to the floor as she dove forward. She landed head to head with the captive. Like a spider, she crawled down the side of his giant frame as he twisted and muttered. Then she somersaulted on the floor, backward and forward.  
  
When he put his giant boot on her head, she switched to attack mode. Growling, she launched herself at him with her jaws wide. Ein cowered and whined. Edward latched on to his ear with her teeth. Her prisoner yowled in horror. Faye heard the ruckus and came running out in a towel with her Glock to see what the hell was happening.  
  
She found Ed dangling from Panchorero's leg and Ein crouched in front of them. A form materialized from the shadows. Spike. Faye tried to ignore him. "Ed, why don't you stop biting," she said, "you don't know where those pants have been." Ed unclamped her jaws and dropped to the floor, sputtering.  
  
"I'll watch him." Spike said quietly. Faye searched his face. Did he want more money?  
  
He crossed his arms and added, "Until you get dressed. You look ridiculous in that towel. And don't bring your gun unless you're planning to hold on to it." Faye inhaled sharply and her eyes narrowed to malevolent green slits. Panchorero snickered until Spike pinned him with his glare.  
  
Faye turned on her heel. Spike watched her stride away with her head high and a cocky swing to her hips beneath the little towel. _There's no greater liability than an uppity woman out of her depth_, he thought.  
  
Panchorero interrupted his bitter inner monologue. "I see why you saved that ass," he said with an ingratiating leer.  
  
Spike glowered . "I don't." 


	3. Where I End and You Begin

**III. Where I End and You Begin**  
  
The side stabilizing fins struck the surface of Ganymede harbor first, followed by the massive belly of the Bebop. With a grim determination, Jet brought the interstellar fishing vessel down into the waters he had launched her from seven years before. The harbor was mapped perfectly into his reflexes; he had to focus not to bring her into the police vessel section or the private craft harbor. Instead, he turned the Bebop in a wide arc, displacing wave upon wave of water, and guided her into the outlying customs dock where the police were waiting.  
  
A fermentation of machine oil, salt, and rotten sea vegetation hung in the air. Jet walked down the plank with a measured stride, followed by Baker Panchorero and then Faye, who had her Glock buried in the prisoner's massive lower back. As they descended, Faye said to him in a low tone, "No funny business or I'll shoot." He laughed shortly, "Funny business? That's all you've got aboard that crazy ship. I can't wait to get back to normal." Jet overheard; it made him wonder grimly how it had come to this, that he was part of a traveling circus rather than a police squadron or even a no- nonsense team with Spike.  
  
At the bottom, they were met by a group of four curious policemen. The senior cop approached Jet and said, "Mr. Black? I'm Sergeant Rivera. Captain Donnelly sent us to pick up your collar. I'm assuming this is him?" He looked over to the hulking scarred man with his hands cuffed. Faye stepped out from behind Panchorero and smiled sweetly at the sergeant. "He's my collar." The policemen looked from Faye, up and down for a minute, to Jet's silent face. Jet seemed to be somewhere else. Noticing the lull, he mumbled, "Yes. She's collecting the reward on this one." There were no laughs, though the officers traded surprised glances and then aimed curious and appreciative looks at Faye. She basked in the attention, meeting the eye of the best-looking patrolman and vamping nonchalantly.  
  
Eventually, the sergeant got down to business and took Faye's information. She told him that she was keeping a fourth of the money "for protection" in another account. She gave him Spike's number. The sergeant handed her two receipts and told her where to collect the bounty. Realizing Jet was there, he said, "I'm sure he can help you find it." Jet stirred and said, "It's been a long time. Why don't you give her directions?" The minute the police took Panchorero into custody, Jet walked off. Faye concluded her business and then sashayed slowly up the gangplank. The police took a little while longer to depart than usual, but eventually they were gone, too.  
  
Faye came into the Bebop, dark after the bright sun of morning on Ganymede. She heard the Hammerhead take off as she walked into the common area. She saw Spike sitting on the couch and made a beeline for him.  
  
"I got the money," she said, with a smug smile. "The cops couldn't believe I brought in a bounty. Sure they were checking out my ass, but they were impressed with more than just that."  
  
Spike looked at her in mild horror.  
  
She went on, "And there was one who was kinda cute. I've never been into men in uniform, but they say you should try everything once." Faye put her finger to her lips, thinking.  
  
Spike spluttered. "Faye, that's... I hope you didn't manage to make an ass out of Jet while you were trying to get into some cop's pants. You know this is Jet's home turf. You ought to show him more respect."  
  
She gave a miffed little sniff. "Well, I'm sorry I had some fun. Here's the receipt for your share."  
  
He took it and didn't look at it. He glared at her and sat back without a word.  
  
Faye tilted her head at him, "We can pick the money up at the Police Building. I got directions."  
  
Spike said nothing.  
  
"I knew it would make you happy," she said sarcastically. _He's never happy_.  
  
He met her eyes. "You owe me more than a fourth and you know it. Why should I be happy about getting half of what I deserve?"  
  
Faye blinked at him. She replied coolly, "I think two hundred is very generous, Spike. You didn't even catch your bounty, so really, I'm doing you a favor by sharing mine."  
  
"You haven't ever done me a favor, Faye," he retorted, brown eyes flashing. "How is keeping three quarters of the bounty for a guy _I_ rescued you from a favor?"  
  
She gave him an airy smile. She'd been waiting for this little conversation. "Well," she said, "You came to help me, but then I rescued _you_ afterward. So I guess we're even."  
  
Spike snorted. "Now I see how you settle your debts. Just don't forget it's going to be a long time before you're square with _Jet_," he grumbled, but he didn't argue the point further. Her mind was obviously made up. In her own favor.

* * *

Spike and Faye approached the looming Ganymede Police building in silence. The architecture on this moon was nothing if not bombastic, perhaps in compensation for the shortage of available land. When they reached the wide steps, Spike stopped at the bottom. Faye went up to the building, past the scrutiny of the armed guards, and into the lobby. Ed and Ein trotted up behind her and sat down on the stairs.  
  
When she came back down with the money, she met Spike. He wouldn't look at her, and Faye realized he'd been stewing for the entire walk. There was very little difference between Spike stewing and Spike just being quiet.  
  
"Spike," she said. He stopped, but did not turn around. "Where's Jet?"  
  
"He's gone to see Alisa." Spike rolled his shoulders.  
  
"Why?" Faye couldn't understand all this moody male behavior.  
  
"Sense of justice and duty," he muttered, and kept walking.  
  
"Spike." He reluctantly stopped again.  
  
"If you hate me so much, why did you come and help me?" She was trying to bridge the gap between them. Even hatred might work.  
  
He smiled and said softly, almost to himself, "Justice and duty."  
  
Faye watched the kid and the dog mess around in the sun and tried to figure out what Spike meant by duty. When Spike exited the building, Faye called up to him. "Sense of justice and duty, huh?" She stood with her hand on her hip, glaring up at him.  
  
Spike kept walking past her, "First time he's home in a while, of course he's going to go see her." She clearly didn't get it, and he had no desire or energy to try and make her.  
  
"You know, you're wrong if you think your old lady still thinks about you," Faye said to Spike's retreating back. She wanted to hurt him for being impossible to read and so inattentive. She'd hit the nerve with Jet; maybe Spike was in the same boat. Literally. Two dumped guys floating around in an old fishing boat, mourning lost loves.  
  
Spike halted finally, and she saw his shoulders tense. He looked for a second as if he were ready to strike, radiating that dangerous physical awareness. He pivoted slowly and faced her from the bottom of the stairs. She noticed that he had the sleeves of his jacket rolled up and wondered for the hundredth time if he thought it was stylish.  
  
"You're completely wrong if you think every woman thinks like you," Spike answered Faye evenly.  
  
Suddenly Ed and Ein came spinning in between them on the stairs, playing some demented game. The tension broke, or at least the silence did. Faye bristled at the interruption. She hated babysitting.  
  
_So he_ is _in the same boat_, Faye thought. She turned toward Ein and Ed to tell them to stop it. Spike waited until she was distracted and then headed for the shopping district.  
  
By the time Spike banged through the hatchway into the common room with a bag of groceries in one arm and a liter of whiskey in the other, Faye and Ed were nowhere to be seen. He carted the groceries to the galley and unloaded. He stashed the whiskey in the emergency space suit cabinet. After the spare suit was destroyed, he and Jet had agreed the best thing to find instead of a space suit would be booze, and so far Faye hadn't figured it out. He put two cartons of Marlboros in after the booze, taking a couple packs out for now. He headed to his room to hide them. A quiet day of work on the Swordfish sounded like just the thing to erase the annoyances and indignities of the previous ones.

* * *

The sunlight was blinding as Spike opened the hatchway to the fore deck, prepared to bring the Swordfish out. When his eyes adjusted, he stopped cold. There she was, planted smack in the middle. Only Faye's legs were visible, stretched out on a striped yellow deck chair under a red and white beach umbrella. Ein slept next to her and Ed was off fishing from the stern.  
  
He called over in the direction of the umbrella, "Oy Faye, you have to move. I need to pull the Swordfish out." No response.  
  
"Faye. You need to move." He raised his voice slightly. Ein stirred and looked at him sleepily.  
  
He walked over and leaned under the umbrella. He nearly jumped in surprise. Faye was wearing an obscene black and white bikini and glistening like a pastry from sweat and tanning oil. The suit sported a ridiculous ornamental chain, snaking from top to hip and down one thigh, and she had a new pair of sunglasses. The smell of coconut filled the air. Spike noted the remainder of a drink on the table next to her.  
  
He leaned over to tap her. Before he could touch her shoulder, she said, "What do you want?"  
  
Spike stood up deliberately. "You need to move further fore. I'm going to pull the Swordfish out for repairs."  
  
"I don't want to move. And besides, I was here first," she replied.  
  
Spike sighed. He had thrown his suit in for its weekly washing and opted for the green shirt she'd tried to appropriate, after giving it a good sniff to make sure it didn't stink of her cacophony of bath products. He had everything ready to go and now he only needed the space. He could pull the Swordfish out the back, but that would mean a bit of annoying reversing. Faye could move more easily.  
  
"I have a hard time believing you can't get a tan twenty feet away," Spike snapped.  
  
"Beauty is hard work, Spike. No man ever appreciates that." Faye shot back.  
  
He couldn't believe how serious she sounded. "Faye, I don't want to ask twice," he said, feeling his temperature rising.  
  
She looked up at him, "Ask? Since when do you even ask, Spike? You order and you take." She turned her head away from him.  
  
He narrowed his eyes and tried to ignore the pounding in his temples. Looking over, he spotted the ice cubes in Faye's drink. He fished them out quickly and tossed them on her tan stomach.  
  
She shrieked and jumped up. The second her butt left the chair, he grabbed the chair and the table and dragged them to the front of the deck where he deposited them in a heap. Then he went back for the umbrella and did the same with it. Faye stood nonplussed, ice cubes at her feet, and felt waves of hot and cold envelop her. She was deeply pleased to have finally made Spike lose control; at the same time, she wanted to lay him out for being such a demanding asshole.  
  
Before Spike could carry her, too, Faye strolled as slowly as possible to the end of the deck and set her little camp back up. Spike stalked off to pull the Swordfish out, trailing a cloud of hate. Ein was curled in the far corner of the deck, out of everyone's way, and Ed hadn't noticed that anything was up: she was too fascinated by the Ganymede Angel squid that she kept pulling up from the harbor waters.  
  
After a good half hour of clanking and rattling, Faye noticed that the noise had stopped. _He must be inside_, she thought. _I wonder what he just fixed, and if I can break it again_. She had prayed when he nearly fell into the harbor, but luck was not with her. Then she heard him come back, and the powerful engines of the Swordfish start up.  
  
Faye lay stock-still and thought, _let him fly the plane over me. I'm not moving this time_. Spike either anticipated this, or didn't care. He barely missed the top of her umbrella as he taxied and took off. Looking back as he flew in a tight arc toward the city, he was greeted by the sight of Faye, immobile except for the outstretched middle finger of her right hand.

* * *

The red sunset faded slowly into a clear, starry night. The Bebop was quiet after the events of the day. Faye came back to the ship to find Ed jacked into the Tomato, muttering something about cable access points, and Jet gone. When Faye pulled off her goggles, Ed grudgingly said he'd gone to see Donnelly to collect a bounty so they could leave tonight. _Good_, Faye thought, _at least Jet found more money_. She hoped it would be enough to keep him from asking for hers.  
  
Faye reached the doorway to the flight deck and stopped just outside. Before she could reconsider, Spike crossed into her field of vision. He wore his thin black cotton pants and nothing else, chest gleaming with sweat beneath the harsh barium lights. His muscles roiled as he advanced through his sequence with steady, deliberate steps. He threw a spinning kick and paused with heel high in the air. Faye held her breath and watched him slowly adjust, his foot a fulcrum, until he stood straight again. She realized his eyes were closed through the entire sequence. He threw a single lightning jab and then they flew open, already locked with hers.  
  
"Hey," she said, trying to look nonchalant.  
  
He crossed his arms, jaw set.  
  
She bit her lip and mirrored his stance. "Hey, I'm looking for a cigarette."  
  
Spike frowned and faced the window. "You didn't buy any?"  
  
"No." She hoped he wouldn't press the issue.  
  
Spike turned back to face her, eyebrows knit. "What happened to those W600,000? Spend it all on bikinis and beach chairs?" She felt her face growing hot, and for some reason, her usual glib lie wouldn't roll off her tongue.  
  
He shook his head when she didn't reply and muttered, "I shouldn't even ask. You lost it all at the casino."  
  
"I did not," she blurted out. She hadn't. She could say that much honestly.  
  
Spike looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language, and repeated slowly, "Then go buy your own cigarettes."  
  
Faye hung her head. Clearly, he wasn't going to let her get around it. She'd have to try for sympathy. "I lost it at the horse races," she admitted, looking up at him through a few stray strands of purple hair. "I was up, double my money, and I thought for sure I could double it again and bring more back –" The expression on Spike's face dried the rest of the words up in her throat.  
  
His eyes narrowed, and he spoke in a clipped, icy tone, all the more ominous for how quiet it was. "Shit, Faye. You blow through money like there's always more behind it. You expect Jet to fix your ship and feed you and let you stay here for free. You expect me to breeze in and save your ass every time you get in over your head. Then you screw me out of my half of the reward. You never think about anyone except yourself."  
  
"You're one to talk, Spike," she said slowly, trying to twist the conversation away from money. At least he'd brought up something else. She took the opening. "You destroy everything in your path. You run off on suicide missions. Leaving Jet and me here to deal with whatever happens to you."  
  
Spike snorted and arched an eyebrow. "Your concern is touching, but it's hardly a suicide mission if I'm running out to save you from the Syndicate, which you had _no business_ getting involved with. You wanted the bounty for yourself and you got in over your head. Sound familiar?"  
  
Faye bristled. "Make up your mind, Spike. You said you didn't go there to save me. You weren't thinking about me, you were thinking about Vicious." She waited for some kind of a reaction from him, some sign that invoking the name exposed a chink in his armor, but he stood utterly still, his brown eyes flat.  
  
"Faye, I'm _always_ thinking about you, whether I want to or not. You get yourself into trouble every time you open your mouth or set foot outside the door," he said.  
  
She shivered a little and struggled to deflect her reluctant pleasure at his words before it became embarrassing. "Oh, please. You think about Ein more than you think about me."  
  
Spike boiled over. Waving one arm for emphasis, he barreled through the litany: "I think about the _team_ when I'm working with you and Jet. About the plan. Not about how I can screw up the plan for the others to get more for myself. You only think about yourself and what you can get. Out of everything! 'Oh, I'll get a beach chair and a bikini and a new pair of sunglasses. Spike and Jet will take care of the food and the cigarettes.'" His high-pitched, insolent mimicry bit like a lash. "Well, not this time. You're not going to see a single Woolong of the bounty on Rhint Celonius. Jet and I caught him while you were basting in the sun and pissing away your own money. Which you took from me. For that matter, you're not eating the groceries I bought, either."  
  
Faye stared at him for a few seconds, trying to maintain her cool. Arguing was obviously pointless, but his words cut deep. She snapped, "Wow. You're pretty thoughtful for an asshole!" She turned on her heel and left before he could reply. From the passageway, she heard his sharp exhales and the snapping of his pantlegs as he executed a set of rapid kicks. And then another.

* * *

The noises of gluttony had trailed off sometime ago. Faye's anger had chilled into resentment and the pride that had made her wait was dissolving. Now her stomach grumbled in protest. Reading through her Venus Moda magazine for the fourth time, Faye thought about dinner and whether everyone was in bed yet. She had voluntarily absented herself so she wouldn't have to deal with Spike. She knew that Jet would have let her eat, but Spike was being such a jerk, she really would rather die than sit down with him.  
  
Heavy footsteps paused outside her door. _Jet_. "Look in the fridge," he said in a muffled voice. She heard him continue down the hallway. She smiled to herself.  
  
Faye tucked her loose hair behind her ears and slipped on a pair of flipflops. She shut the door with little noise and glided down the hallway, spreading her arms out slightly for balance and to minimize the sound of her feet. She kept an ear out for Spike, hoping she could grab the food before he found her.  
  
She walked slowly into the common area. There he was. Sprawled out on the couch like a giant, leggy baby, mouth open. She glared for a second and then made a beeline to the galley. At least he couldn't stop her when he was asleep. And maybe she could find his groceries and eat them.  
  
Faye carefully pulled the congealed plate of sesame beef, seaweed salad, dumplings, and chicken from the refrigerator shelf. The bounty on that guy must have been pretty large for all it yielded. She ate and ate until she couldn't eat anymore. She ate the full plate plus a container of leftover shrimp tempura that she found and a bar of chocolate that Jet must have left for her on the counter. When she was finished, her eyeballs hurt from being so full. She sat on the floor of the galley for a little while and digested. Danger boy still snored on the couch.  
  
While she sat there, immobile with food, she thought about what Spike had said. _Am I really so self-centered? A little selfishness is a good thing. It keeps you alive, keeps you thinking about the next thing on your plate_. She stifled a groan. _Bad metaphor_.  
  
_Men are better partners with other men_, she thought. _The only women in their lives are the ones they've left behind. So I have to look out for myself._ Still, a tiny doubt snuck into her heart, that Spike was right, that she was selfish, that she didn't worry about them at all when she stood to gain advantage, but depended on them when she needed them.  
  
_Justice and duty_. The mantra came back to her again, incomprehensible for how it seemed to apply only to the things men cared about personally. _Hah! He's so stuck up, it's amazing he has another brain cell to waste in that green head thinking about others_.  
  
Faye's thoughts took shape more clearly as the food broke down in her stomach. Spike was just trying to wound her. He used any weakness of his opponents against them. If she worried about whether he was right, he would win.  
  
Faye got up from the cool floor and stretched. She walked into the living room with quiet steps and then paused. Her eyes caught the ashtray next to Spike. She smiled a slow realization. _To the victor go the spoils of war_. She tiptoed off to Spike's room in search of cigarettes.

* * *

**Authors' Note:** From here on in, _Nicotine_ is rated NC-17. Since FFN does not publish NC-17 material, we will be posting the remainder of the story on our site. You can get a quick link to the main page from either bebop-aria or cowgirlnoir's FFN profiles. Here it is in mangled form:  
  
bebop . noogie . com / thegrind / nicotine /  
  
You can follow the links there to read the story or sign up for the nic-fit mailing list. It's used to notify you of new chapters being posted, and to tell you where to get the MP3 that goes with the week's chapter. We do not use the list for anything else and its member roster is private.  
  
So – if you'd like to keep getting more _Nicotine_, please stop by and sign up. Or rather, we should say – sign up if you're over 17!  
  
Yr devoted scribes,

bebop-aria & cowgirlnoir


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